


Lisa Cuddy, Future Doctor Partypants

by leiascully



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Collegefic, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-31
Updated: 2006-10-31
Packaged: 2017-10-03 06:10:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Body shots.  College.  These things happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lisa Cuddy, Future Doctor Partypants

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: college years at UMich  
> A/N: This one's for [**lissie_pissie**](http://lissie-pissie.livejournal.com/), who suggested it, and [**sangria_lila**](http://sangria-lila.livejournal.com/) and [**angiescully**](http://angiescully.livejournal.com/) who cheered me on. Because Cuddy had to get the nickname "partypants" somehow. Happy SmutTuesday, and happy return of _House_! And Happy Halloween!  
> Disclaimer: _House M.D._ and all related characters are the property of Shore Z, Bad Hat Harry, and Fox. No profit is made from this work and no infringement is intended.

It was spring, finally. She knew the cold would come back, but today it was warm enough to wear a t-shirt and jeans, and she had just finished her midsems, and Cuddy was full of that nameless joy that came with the world getting warmish and vaguely green around the edges. Michigan spring was an unpredictable thing, but at the moment, life was good. Greg had called, the first time in a couple of weeks they'd had any free moments that coincided, and she broke into a jog as she crossed the campus, just for fun. They were too busy these days. She tried to pretend she wasn't aching for him, and she ran a little faster.

When she got to the apartment, she was breathing a little hard, but not too much. Hot and bothered, she thought, twitterpated. Her skin was damp under the collar of her shirt and her cheeks were flushed. Greg opened the door to her insistent knocks, propping his cheek against his hand on the doorframe and holding the door mostly closed with his foot.

"Where the hell have you been?" he demanded.

"Here. There. Everywhere." She grinned at him. "Let me in. It's the first day of break. I know you've got plans."

"I always have plans," he said, letting the door swing open. "Today they involve booze."

She picked up the bottle on the table. The gold liquid inside sloshed against the glass, looking almost as thick as syrup. "Tequila?"

"Si, Senorita." There was a dish of cut limes on the table, and a cardboard shaker of salt. He strolled over and ran a hand down her back. She had not been aware that the fabric of her t-shirt was so thin. She thought she could feel the ridges on his fingertips.

"How do you drink tequila? Presuming you haven't whipped up a batch of margaritas in a stolen centrifuge."

"Shots," he said, moving past her to get to a chair, so close that her back arched a little. He dragged the chair closer to her and hooked a second with his foot, pulling it against the backs of her calves until she sat down. She looked into his eyes defiantly as she sat. He liked to play these power games, and she liked to stand up to him. It had been weeks since she'd seen him and longer since she'd fucked him, and just looking into his eyes made her remember how it felt to have her skin against his. She shivered delicately and he smirked.

"Welcome back, Lise," he said.

"You only have one glass here," she said, because she loved making him make an effort to get her into bed, and that meant playing through all the levels of his little games. He always had such elaborate schemes. Even when they started with a single glass and a dish of limes, he had thought things through to his preferred inevitable conclusion.

"It's hard for both of us to do body shots at once," he said, tipping the bottle and watching the alcohol and the way it coated the glass. He unscrewed the cap and poured a long shot into the glass, the bottle a little too high, but he didn't spill a drop. The alcohol was gleaming and fragrant. "Mmm," he said and she shivered again in anticipation. He looked at her with that gaze that seemed to bend around the bottle and see through her bra. "Aha. There's my girl."

"If you know you're going to win, why do we play these games?" she asked, rhetorically.

"I like to watch," he said, and ran his hand over the outside of her thigh as he reached across to pull her chair closer. She leaned forward and kissed him, deep and hungry, and he kissed her back before letting his mouth slide across her cheek down to her throat. She whimpered, hotter already than the run should have accounted for. She was a junior now and he was almost a doctor and they probably shouldn't be doing this (still). He had his hand down at the base of her spine, where her jeans left the skin bare, and his thumb was rubbing across her back, and she wanted to be kissing him again, but he was nibbling along the tendons in her neck.

"Salty already," he said. "If I didn't know better, I would have thought you ran all the way here because you were missing me."

"Some parts more than others," she said, because it was easier than telling him she loved him, which he already knew but they would never say. She slipped a hand over his cheek and turned his face back to hers, kissing him so fiercely that their teeth clicked together. He reached awkwardly around the back of her neck with the salt shaker and tipped it against her throat. She could feel the grains tickling as they rolled down the loose neck of her t-shirt. Greg broke the kiss suddenly and licked the salt from her neck, his mouth very hot, his tongue rough and the edges of his teeth grazing her skin. He reached for the shot and threw it back, and then bit a wedge of lime and kissed her. She licked at his lips, her mouth tingling from the lime.

"Should have been ladies first," he said, "but you know how I enjoy setting an example for the young ones."

"You've never really been a gentleman," she murmurmed back, and leaned around him to pour herself a shot. He pushed up the sleeve of her t-shirt and kissed her shoulder. She filled the glass and then pushed her hands under his shirt, reveling in the feel of his skin under her palms. "Take this off." Four hands worked at the fabric of his shirt, though Cuddy's were mostly involved in skimming the skin under. He hadn't been eating right. She could feel the ridges of his ribs under her fingers. He must have been rowing in his spare time, though, because his muscles were lean and defined. She ran her fingers up his arms.

"Europe turned you into a tease," he said, pretending to complain, but the darkening blue of his eyes told her he was enjoying it. She picked up the shaker, holding it with a show of elegance, and put salt in the hollow of his collarbone. He watched her intently as she put the salt back on the table and dragged one fingertip through the grains at his clavicle before leaning forward and drawing the tip of her tongue across the line the bone made under his skin. He hummed as she washed the salt away, brushing her lips across his before she took the shot and bit the lime. The tequila burned on the way down and the lime was a burst of flavor like sunlight coming out from behind a cloud. She should have eaten something first, she thought, but then he was kissing her again with his hands up under her shirt, and she wasn't sure if the burn under her skin was the tequila or the way she wanted him.

He pulled her shirt up slowly, his long fingers going all the way around her ribs. She let her head fall back. She hadn't dried her hair this morning and it fell over her shoulders in a tumble of curls, just the way she knew he liked it. "Arms," he said, and she lifted them, knowing that the movement pushed her breasts together and that he was watching for that as her shirt came off. He sat watching her for a long moment after he'd thrown her shirt on the floor, so that she blushed under his gaze, and her nipples began to tighten for reasons that had nothing to do with cold.

"You really are well put together," he said softly, looking her over.

"You're quite something yourself," she countered. "Too bad none of those things are kissing me."

"All this sass," he grumbled, but pushed one hand into her hair. "I didn't teach you that." It was pointless to point out the fallacy there. She leaned out of her chair, half standing, half kneeling on his lap, and kissed him deeply as his hands moved over her bare back. He unhooked her bra and she let it fall into his lap as he caressed her breasts with the back of his hand. She kissed her way down his stomach, unzipped his jeans. He was hot and hard in her hand as she maneuvered him out through the gap of the zipper, leaving the button done, and she took him into her mouth, salt mixing with lime and tequila, and he hissed as she moved her tongue along his length, her progress leisurely, her fingers wrapped around the base of his cock stroking lightly. His fingers tightened in her hair and she let him go reluctantly, dragging her breasts over his damp heat and up his body until she could kiss his mouth again.

"Forget the plans," she murmured against his mouth. "I need you."

"That's what I like to hear," he said, and got up, one arm around her waist. He walked her backwards to the couch, holding her body against his, and only when they got there did she notice he'd brought the dish of limes and the bottle of tequila, and the salt was wedged into one pocket. He pressed her into the cushions and she hummed against his mouth, her hands pushing into the band of his jeans. He squeezed a lime wedge over her belly and traced patterns in the juice with his fingertips before lowering his mouth to her skin. "Tell me what you learned in biochem about the effects of alcohol on the body," he murmured, and he hadn't shaved again, and his stubble prickled like her whole body had fallen asleep and circulation was just returning.

"Tell me what you learned about women in anatomy," she gasped, arching and squirming under his weight as he washed her breasts with tequila dribbled carefully from the bottle. He put the bottle to her lips and she swallowed. He was curled around her, pinning her, and she licked at the tender skin of his bicep, tasting salt.

"Nothing I didn't already know. I do my best work outside of the classroom, unless you want to move this party to an academic building."

"Lot of homework you've done, Greg?" she said, striving to remain coherant as his lips moved over her breasts.

He dipped his head and sucked hard at her stomach. She was going to have a hickey. "Jealousy doesn't become you, Lise." He looked up. "Actually, I lied. Look at those fiery eyes. Don't worry. As a TA, I never gave anyone higher marks in T and A than you."

"Not worried," she said. "We never said we wouldn't work on other assignments. I had a boyfriend, remember?"

She thought he said something, that he tried not to, but she wasn't sure because he had slipped his fingers down her pants as his mouth closed over her nipple. He undid her jeans with his thumb and slid halfway off the couch so that he could kiss his way down her stomach. She closed her eyes and squeezed the cushions, the muscles of her flanks tightening as his stubble grazed her. He stopped, breathing against her belly, and then began to laugh.

"Why in God's name are you wearing panties with 'It's Party Time!' written on them?"

She tried to scramble up but only managed to slide out of her jeans. "They were a gift from my big sister in my sorority."

"What kind of parties are you having in your sorority? Sexy ones? With pillowfights?"

"Take your pants off," she said, blushing furiously.

"I'm taking yours off first," he said, hooking his thumbs under the elastic. "And I'm keeping them, Partypants. Future Doctor Partypants. These are ridiculous." He peeled the panties off and kissed his way up her inner thigh, dabbling his tongue against her clit until the only thing that was real was the taste of salt and lime and the burn of tequila at the corners of her mouth, because the rest of the world had gone bright white. He pushed two fingers into her, reaching for her g-spot, rubbing his fingertips inside her until she was almost hyperventilating.

She fumbled with his buttons and pulled at him until he moved over her, shifting out of his clothes, reaching into the pocket of his discarded jeans for the little foil packet. He rolled the condom on and she hooked one leg over his hip and urged him in. He reached over the edge of the couch and put the tequila bottle to her lips, holding her head steady as she swallowed, and she could feel it burn all the way down to where their hips wedged against each other. He reached again and put a wedge of lime between her teeth. She bit as he began to move, and the combination of sensations was astounding, the burst of flavor and the burst of pleasure. He pushed his mouth against hers and his lips were salty. She pulled at them, loving the taste of him. He moved slowly in her, and she rocked her hips against him to get him to speed up.

"Faster," she said. "Been too long."

"Faster means it might not be long enough," he panted. "God, you..."

"Come on, Grrrreg," she coaxed, and slipped her hand down between them to reassure him that he wasn't going anywhere she couldn't follow. The room was heating up fast and her skin was sweaty against the leather of the couch, but oh, it felt good. She dragged his head down to kiss him and she thought she bit his lip when she came, because there was the taste of salt again, and the world was lime and tequila washing over her. He grunted and kissed her hard, jamming into her, and she gasped and her muscles just kept rippling, and it was still too bright to see anything, but he rolled over and pulled her onto his chest, and they breathed like they'd been drowning together, long choppy breaths.

After a long time, she could breathe again, and she kissed his shoulder and tasted salt like an aftershock of pleasure. "You always have the best plans," she said.

"You were always my favorite extracurricular," he said. "Come on. Let's go shower."


End file.
